Your Taste on My Lips
by whysosiriusblack45
Summary: Ryan gets jealous after Mike leaves with Max. 2x09 spoilers.


Ryan noticed. They may think they're being clever, with their furtive glances and bedroom eyes, but they're not. Ryan sees everything.

He just didn't expect it to sting this much.

Ryan hadn't realized how attached to Mike he was until the young detective was suddenly following Max around like a lost puppy instead. Possessive feelings pulled at his gut, along with jealousy, and a hint of annoyance. Every time Mike's eyes flitted away from Ryan to drink in the view of Max's slim figure, something started to burn in the pit of Ryan's stomach.

He didn't like this feeling.

And then Mike offered to walk Max to her fucking car, like the chivalrous motherfucker he is, and Ryan tangibly felt the jealousy bubble into acid, burning the back of his throat.

He sat and stewed angrily on his couch, images of Mike's cheating eyes parading around his mind.

By the time Carrie the fucking reporter showed up at his door, Ryan was about to crawl out of his skin.

So he kissed her.

Instead of being a good boy and playing it safe, Ryan kissed little-miss-know-it-all on the lips, and then he fucked her too.

No disrespect to the lady; she was damn good at her job, and that's nothing to snort at. But Carrie wormed her way past every one of his well-placed defenses, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he hated her for it.

That didn't stop Ryan from letting her ease his loneliness.

When he came, his mind flashed with Mike's piercing blue eyes and Ryan nearly threw up.

Fuck.

So that's why he was jealous.

Long after Carrie left, Ryan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his sexuality like he was fucking teenager all over again.

There were many things to consider. First, Ryan had never come so hard in his life than when he was thinking about Mike Weston. Second, Ryan was not gay. Third, Ryan was jealous of his own niece. Fourth, Ryan was maybe a little gay—what's the term the kids are using… bisexual? No, bi-curious.

_RING._

Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone rang. He groaned, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face and checking the caller ID.

His stomach flip-flopped when he saw **"Mike Weston"**__flashing on the screen.

"Yea?" he answered, voice cracking with sleepiness.

"Shit, sorry, were you asleep?" came Mike's voice, warbling softly into Ryan's ear.

"Not really," Ryan assured him half-heartedly, trying to stamp down the spark of lust igniting in his belly. Just the sound of Mike's voice sent chills tingling down Ryan's spine. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you," Mike answered, evasive. "Can I come over?"

Ryan looked over at his bedside clock. It read 2:45 AM.

"Why the fuck not," Ryan mumbled.

"See you soon," Mike said before he hastily hung up.

Ryan groaned and rubbed his eyes, weary. This was a bad idea.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on Ryan's door.

Ryan shuffled over, wearing nothing but a pair of worn flannel pajama bottoms. Mike was pulling him out of bed, and if he didn't like Ryan's wardrobe… well then he could just deal with it.

As soon as Ryan opened the door, Mike burst into the room, shoulders tensed with nervous energy.

"Woah, woah, where's the fire?" Ryan teased, grinning slightly. But Mike's face was lined with stress, his blue eyes tinted gray with worry.

"Listen, Ryan, I gotta tell you something," he stammered, words flying out of his mouth top speed. "It's against protocol but I can't not—"

"Slow down, kid," Ryan frowned, brows furrowed with concern. He put a hand on Mike's shoulder and forced him to sit on the couch. "You need to calm down. Let me pour you a drink."

Mike frowned.

"I thought you were clean," he stated.

Ryan shrugged.

"I am," he said. "Doesn't mean I don't keep some of the good stuff around for guests. Max likes her bourbon."

Mike sat, anxiously tapping his foot as Ryan retrieved the bourbon from his cupboard. He poured a glass for Mike, and then a glass of water for himself.

Mike accepted his drink graciously, before downing it in nearly one go. Ryan stared.

"That nervous?" he joked, worry lacing his words.

Mike gazed at him, eyes blue and full of conflict.

"I shouldn't be telling you…" he whispered. Ryan sat down beside him, pouring Mike another glass to ease his nerves.

"Just tell me what's wrong," Ryan soothed, nothing but sincerity.

Mike just stared, wide-eyed and innocent.

Ryan's heart nearly cracked in two. Mike's bottom lip glistened, bourbon shining like gloss in the dim light. Suddenly, Ryan was thirsty for a _drink_. He felt those familiar cravings creep into his bones, and his mouth became parched.

And Mike looked like the tastiest damn drink in the world.

Ryan leaned forward and kissed him hungrily, chasing that bourbon off of Mike's lips, uncaring that the younger man froze at his touch. He needed that fucking drink like he needed air. He needed Mike to in order to breathe.

Mike's lips were soft, but unmoving. They tasted even better than Ryan could've dreamed. Mike was everywhere—his taste in Ryan's mouth, his scent in Ryan's head. Ryan was drowning in the young detective.

Somewhere along the line, Ryan realized just what the fuck he was doing. His stomach dropped to the floor, and ice flooded his veins. He pulled back in a full panic.

"Fuck, I- I'm fuckin' sorry," he stuttered, cheeks flushing red. He hadn't blushed since his high school prom.

Mike stared in shock, his fingers tracing his lips where Ryan's tongue had been moments before. He looked so damn pretty and disheveled that it took all Ryan's willpower to keep his hands to himself.

"Shit, I fucked up," Ryan muttered, his head in his hands, nails scraping over his scalp.

Silence followed.

And then Ryan felt a gentle touch on his wrist.

He looked up, to see Mike gazing at him, almost reverently, his hands framing Ryan's face.

Ryan's breath caught in his chest, and Mike leaned forward and kissed him.

It was like a dam broke.

Suddenly, they were touching everywhere. Mike's stubble scraped a burning trail down Ryan's neck, as he nuzzled the sensitive skin there, biting curiously, his tongue soothing the worried flesh. A moan rumbled out of Ryan's chest, and to his amazement, a spike of lust shot down his spine, rousing his cock for a possible round two of sexual activities.

Unwilling to let Mike get the upper hand, Ryan pulled the younger man to him, slotting their bodies firmly together, until he could feel every dip and curve of Mike's toned body. While Mike worried his neck with biting teeth and peppered kisses, Ryan let his hands explore, tracing up and down Mike's back before dipping low beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Fuck, the kid had a tight ass. Ryan could feel the muscle clenching beneath his touch, which in turn just sent even more bolts of lust straight to his cock. Ryan lay back, pulling Mike on top of him, until the younger man was maneuvered between Ryan's thighs.

Mike paused a moment, looming over Ryan, his eyes blazing with desire. Ryan had never realized just how fucking big the kid was.

And then Mike was leaning down, sucking sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over Ryan's chest, taking extra care to pepper his pacemaker scars with gentle little affectionate nips. Ryan groaned, threading his fingers through Mike's silk-fine hair.

The lower Mike got, the more anxious Ryan became. For Christ's sake, Mike's kisses were so obscene it was like he was giving Ryan's hipbone a blowjob. Even though Mike was nowhere near his dick, Ryan was nervous he might blow it like some teenage virgin, and then the party would be over before it even started. It might not even take a single touch to his dick—just Mike's feverish gaze and spit-slicked lips.

Ryan hissed, pulling the younger man up to eye-level. Ryan smirked.

"You seem a little over-dressed."

Before Ryan could even get another word in, Mike was frantically pulling his shirt off like an over-eager boy scout, desperate to please and be pleased.

Ryan nearly creamed his pants at the sight of a shirtless Mike.

The kid was fucking beautiful.

He was nothing but miles of smooth alabaster skin, chest peppered with light blonde hairs that Ryan wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through. So he did.

Mike trembled at his touch, hips involuntarily thrusting forward into Ryan's leg. Ryan grinned, letting his fingers trail down, tickling a path along each rib until he hit the zipper of Mike's pants.

Suddenly, everything became very real.

The men stared at each other, neither willing to move forward or back down. They were teetering on the edge of a cliff, a very steep cliff that would end in mutual orgasms, now that Ryan thought about it.

Fuck it.

There was a 'clink' and a 'zip' and then Ryan was pulling down pants and boxers to reveal Mike's straining dick. Uncertain, Ryan grasped Mike's cock before hesitantly giving it a few pumps.

Mike nearly buckled over, threatening to collapse on top of Ryan.

Ryan smirked, satisfied.

He'd been worried that he might be terrible at this, but judging by the debauched look on Mike's fucking face—there's no way. Ryan pumped a couple more times, before withdrawing to spit on his hand. He knew first-hand the importance of proper lubrication, however weird that sounded. Mike definitely seemed to appreciate the difference, if the breathy whimpers and trembling muscles were any indication.

He crumpled over Ryan, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of Ryan's head. The young detective trembled, unable to control the thrusting of his hips. Ryan bit his lip, thoroughly appreciating the close up view of Mike's panting face. His mouth hung open in the prettiest way, brows knit together in concentration, as he tried not to fuck into Ryan's hand uncontrollably.

He could tell Mike was getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic and violent. The hand not currently pumping Mike's dick, Ryan thread up and into Mike's hair, slowly scraping his nails over the young man's scalp, sending full body shivers down his spine.

But Mike's eyes were closed, and Ryan knew that simply would not do.

"Look at me," Ryan commanded, voice low and harsh with lust.

As soon as Ryan caught a glimpse of those startling baby blues, he swiped his thumb over the head of Mike's cock and squeezed, the way he knew that he liked it himself, and then Mike was coming into his hand—a wordless cry punching its way from Mike's chest.

Rope after rope of come splashed Ryan's stomach, and something about that made everything just one shade dirtier—Ryan ground himself against Mike's strong, thick thigh, desperate for release.

Everything was building, the pressure behind his spine almost too much to bear, and then Ryan locked eyes with Mike, and his gaze was overflowing with heat and lust and… adoration…

"_Fuck," _Ryan panted, as his orgasm tore out of him, come staining the inside of his pajama bottoms. The aftershocks rattled through his bones, and he twitched in Mike's arms, fingers scrambling through Mike's hair for something—anything to hold onto.

Mike collapsed, exhausted, on top of Ryan who was equally too tired to care to move this to the bedroom—something he should've done a half hour ago.

The steady thump of Mike's heartbeat drummed into Ryan's ear, and exhaustion tugged at his eyelids.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" he asked, already being pulled into darkness.

Mike wrapped the older man in his arms, desperate to keep Ryan to himself for just a little bit longer.

"Nothing," Mike lied.

Claire would just have to wait until morning.


End file.
